


Going Up?

by pied_pollo



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Angst, But the timeframe between that, Claustrophobia, Conversations, Episode: s12e22 Red Light, Episode: s13e01 Wheels Up, Gen, Hugs, Panic Attacks, Post-Prison, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, So much angst, This isn’t my usual type of fic but i really enjoyed writing this!, Trapped In Elevator, i wanted to see Spencer and Morgan eating bREaKFAsT ToGeTHeR and i was rOBBeD, revel in it cause its the only time ill write it, yeah i said hugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:00:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28362060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pied_pollo/pseuds/pied_pollo
Summary: Morgan and Reid have gotten stuck in an elevator before, but that was before prison.
Comments: 30
Kudos: 115





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [throughemptyquarters](https://archiveofourown.org/users/throughemptyquarters/gifts).



He should have expected things to be difficult after prison.

It didn’t take a genius to come to that sort of conclusion, but granted, Spencer had figured life would be all right now. Cat Adams was back in prison; his mother was safe; and the team was on their way to apprehend Mr. Scratch. Things were okay, at least for only a few minutes—

“Reid?”

—in fact, things were going more than okay. Maybe that should have been a sign.

Spencer looked up from his desk and stared, unsure if who he was seeing was actually there. “Morgan?”

He was. “You gonna leave a brother hanging?” Morgan ventured, face split in a wide grin. He held out his hand. “It’s been a second, kid.”

“More than a second,” Spencer admitted, rising to his feet. He took a step forward, then paused, wondering who was going to bring it up first.

_More than a second because it’s been three months. Three months in prison. Which you probably only figured out a moment ago. Because I didn’t want you to know. Or I forgot. Got a little busy thinking I murdered a woman. But I was really only high for the first time in ten years. The thought might have also slipped my mind when I was being chased by the police. Across the Mexican border, no less. With heroin, cocaine, and morally dubious plants. But it was all for science. And my mom. My mom who’s getting worse. And who I think I might become one day. How’s Hank and Savannah?_

Instead, Morgan only smiled wider. “Garcia told me you were heading home,” he noted. “Where’s your mom?”

“I sent her home,” Spencer replied, relaxing a little. “Cassie’s friend from the home nurse association offered to stay with her.” Off Morgan’s patient expression, he added, “I wasn’t really ready to leave yet.”

“Okay. I get it.” For someone who just got blown off for three months, Morgan was acting unexpectedly nonchalant. “You need a ride home?”

“...Yeah.”

Maybe the nonchalance wasn’t just an act. The thought was tempting, but then, as the elevator doors closed and Morgan swung an arm around his shoulder, grinning widely, Spencer even ventured that the thought was true.

As if he could read his mind, Morgan said, “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”

Spencer stared straight ahead. “I didn’t mean to leave you in the dark like that,” he mumbled.

“It’s all right.” Spencer missed that easy smile more than he realized. “We can catch up as soon as we get some food for your mom, alright? How is she?”

“She’s—”

A loud groaning from under their feet cut off Spencer’s words. With a small jerk, the elevator screeched to an abrupt stop, nearly sending both occupants crashing into the walls. The light above them flickered, then shut off.

The elevator stilled into an eerie creaking.

Morgan cursed and hit the wall, which only mimicked the sound of laminated paper being shaken. Pressing the emergency button didn’t do them a world of good either; though he could hear a small alarm go off above, Spencer doubted anyone was near enough to hear—or care, considering a good portion of the BAU was driving towards Mr. Scratch.

Which meant that they were stuck.

_No. No. No. No. No._

Spencer had spent too long being trapped in enclosures too tight for him, with no room to breathe or move. It was as if the elevator stopping caused the temperature to rise, and he tore off his tie without thinking twice about it.

Next to him, Morgan looked mildly concerned. “You okay?”

It was too cramped with his mass, too unsafe, and Spencer choked out a panicked noise before he could stop himself, squeezing his eyes shut. His feet stumbled in a direction on their own, and his back hit the wall with that echoey sound bouncing through his head, but it wasn’t a stone wall. 

_He wasn’t there. He wasn’t there. He wasn’t there. He wasn’t there._

But it felt like it. _God,_ it felt like it, and the memory of someone holding him back with a sock down his throat was too much to handle. Spencer coughed out the taste of laundry detergent and gripped the elevator railing with both hands, feeling his heartbeat rise in his ears and slam into his chest, pushing out all the air in his lungs as he did so.

He stopped breathing.

Vaguely, Spencer saw Morgan take a few steps back, unsure of what he should do, and he took the opportunity to make his lungs expand, but he couldn’t taste the air; couldn’t feel oxygen working its way into his esophagus, his trachea, the primary bronchi, the lungs, the alveoli, then out—

He still couldn’t breathe.

Morgan had to sidestep in order to avoid Spencer’s suit jacket, which was tossed carelessly aside along with the first two buttons of his collared shirt. The air didn’t circulate and he _still couldn’t breathe_ , but things were cooler, and Spencer sucked in another greedy gulp that didn’t quite go anywhere.

A prickling sensation rippled across his scalp and down his back, to his arms and legs, and Spencer brought his nails to his throat because _he couldn’t breathe_ and he had to get out, he had to leave _now—_

“Reid—come on, _listen_ to me.”

—and God, he was dying. What with the stress and the exhaustion taking a toll on his body, that had to be what was happening, right? His intestines burned hot but the rest of him was cold, so cold, and Spencer didn’t know whether he wanted to choke up the acid in his stomach or pull his coat over his eyes, but neither would help, he knew.

Morgan could, though. “Kid, we’ve been here before,” he said, voice strong and something to hold onto. “The elevator’s broken, and we’re gonna be okay, but I need you to calm down. Everything’s fine; you just gotta believe me and take in a deep breath.”

He knew that, knew that everything was going _just fine_ until now, but all Spencer could do was bring his head up and down in what he hoped was a nod. Up and down and up and down and up and down and up and down and—

“Reid—!”

—he was falling, somewhere, somehow, tipping, tilting, and even though he could breathe, he couldn’t _breathe,_ because his limbs hit the walls without fully extending and the light was like digging the hilt of a knife into his eyes until Morgan’s face blocked it.

“You’re okay,” he was saying, over and over, but Spencer just shook his head and brought his knees to his chin with a strangled sob and the elevator rocked some more—or maybe that was him—with a sickening crunch that threatened to pull him down farther.

“Help,” he whispered, but he didn’t know whether or not he spoke. His chest heaved and Morgan looked devastatingly pained, but all Spencer could do was curl deeper and deeper into himself and cry because he just _couldn’t do this_ anymore and he wanted to just _get out_ and escape the hot-and-cold shivers that made his head spin and his legs twitch and his heart slam and his stomach churn and his ears go numb.

But then the lights turned back on, sputtering back to life, and there was some hope.

“You know what’s happening,” Morgan soothed, resting his hand on Spencer’s and keeping it there despite the raspy _Youcanttouchmedonttouchme_ that it evoked. “In and out. We got this, right?”

“Got this,” Spencer wheezed, jerking as the elevator started to rumble to life.

Morgan smiled. “See? That wasn’t so bad, right? Just like last time.”

It _was_ _that bad_ and _completely unlike last time,_ but Spencer was too busy trying not to pass out, so he wagered they’d both let it slide for now.

A few unsteady clicks later and the elevator descended again with a slow creak. Spencer released the death grip he had on the elevator railings and dropped his head to his knees, tuning out the sound of Morgan’s reassurances and focusing instead on the floor that was moving on its own accord.

Metal floor, metal elevator, tight elevator, hot elevator, moving elevator, elevator with Morgan and elevator they were going to get out of soon. Spencer felt his breaths slip into some sort of rhythm and Morgan pulled him back to his feet just as the box stuttered to a stop.

“Jacket?” he offered, holding it out.

“Yeah,” Spencer sighed, accepting it, “could you—” Morgan handed him his tie. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.” Morgan’s eyes lingered on his face for a moment, expression unreadable as he shook his head and gave Spencer’s shoulder a comforting squeeze. “Anytime, kid.”

The doors opened. Spencer took a step forward and almost immediately choked on a deep inhale that made him cough. Morgan kept his distance as he bounced and shook out his limbs, revelling in the freedom that was suddenly and graciously gifted to him and the exhaustion it took to get there.

When he had finished celebrating, Morgan said, “We’re gonna have to talk about this.”

“I know,” Spencer agreed, wincing at how tired his throat felt. “But not yet. Please.”

Morgan pursed his lips and ran a hand up and down Spencer’s back, pressing his head into his own shoulder, and the feeling was grounding. Spencer gulped in oxygen throughout the entire car ride and throughout half of breakfast with Morgan and his mom.

Half.

Because just as he was completely relaxing, Spencer got a phone call.

_“Hey, Reid, it’s Luke. You gotta get to Saint Mary’s hospital as soon as possible.”_

Spencer put his fork down and looked up at Morgan. “What? Wait, what happened?”

_“It was a trap,”_ Luke explained, voice tight. _“It was—shit, it’s bad. Stephen…”_

“What happened to Stephen? Is he hurt?”

He could hear Luke swallow over the phone. _“It’s everyone. A semi hit our SUVs; Mr. Scratch is in the wind. Just get here now.”_

The line went dead. Spencer glanced between his mom and Morgan, both equally confused, but the latter was starting to recognize what sort of phone call that was.

“Go,” he said.

Spencer panicked. “I can’t just—”

“I’ll stay here,” Morgan assured him, dragging him back up to a standing position, “I got her, just go, Reid. Call me.”

“Be right back,” Spencer promised his mom, before stumbling towards the door with a weak, “Thank you,” towards Morgan.

“Kid?” he replied.

“Yeah?”

Morgan smiled. “I’m so proud of you.”

Spencer doubted it, but returned the gesture nonetheless, pushed open the door after a moment’s hesitation, and hurried to get back to his team, thinking distantly that maybe he was only allowed a little bit of okayness at a time—but maybe that was fine for now. 

He had other things to worry about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hey, this was super fun!! I haven’t written this much solid angst packed into a fic since October and it was good to get back in the groove, hahahaha. I hope you enjoyed it. Thanks for reading!
> 
> Right, and I might add another chapter of (*sparkling noise*) emotional healing. Yaaaaay!


	2. Chapter 2

_“Banisteriopsis caapi.”_

“Spence—”

“Don’t.”

After getting word that Scratch had been killed, Morgan had driven back to the BAU, waiting for the team to get home. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to be there; he couldn’t help but smile at the familiar sight of everyone gathering around the conference table.

But what _wasn’t_ a familiar sight was Spencer snapping at Emily.

“Please don’t say it,” Spencer continued, eyes flicking to the side and back like he couldn’t find a place on Emily’s face to focus on. “You know I’m right, anyway.”

“You’re not,” Emily argued, reaching out to rest a hand on his arm and flinching when he yanked it away. “This isn’t your fault. The team would have figured out where I was even if you never solved the texts. And you _did,”_ she added.

“But I could have solved it faster,” Spencer whispered, and Morgan could hear the break in his voice, barely suppressed by the anger, “I’ve done better things in less time for easier cases—”

“Don’t go down that path.” Spencer squeezed his eyes shut, and Emily softened her voice. “Everything turned out okay in the end, you know that.”

“I just—” Spencer swallowed, trying to work out his thoughts clearly enough. “I just wish I could do one thing right without any consequences.”

And before Emily could reply, he walked away.

Morgan watched him shove the glass doors open; watched Alvez try and fail to talk to him; watched JJ and Rossi exchange sad glances. He turned back to Emily and raised his eyebrows.

“There was this file,” she explained, “of text messages between Stephen and I. He pretended to be Hotch; we tried to coax Scratch out into the open by pretending we were on him. One way was through a plant we knew he’d bought— _banisteriopsis caapi,_ or B-Cap. According to Matt, Reid took it upon himself to try and narrow down Scratch’s location by finding out where the plant was indigenous to.”

Morgan frowned. “You said he found it. What’s the matter?”

“It took him an hour.”

They both turned to see Garcia, standing with tears in her eyes.

“It took him an hour,” she went on, coming closer, “which was apparently, like, molasses speed for him or something. So he totally flipped out about it—‘cause, you know, he was super stressed and his blood pressure was already probably through the roof, thanks to prison—but, um, he threw a book and got really mad at himself; said that Emily might die because he went too slow.”

“I didn’t—well, obviously,” Emily continued, “but he’s...not in a good place.”

Morgan nodded. “Anyone gonna talk to him about it?”

Both women looked pained. “Alvez tried a couple times,” Garcia tried weakly. “He didn’t take it well.”

Morgan thought for a moment. “Let me try,” he offered.

With a nod and another blowed kiss, Garcia waved goodbye. Morgan turned to where the stairwell door swung closed and hurried to catch up with Spencer, who was seemingly ignoring him.

They reached the bottom and Morgan touched him before he could open the door. “Kid—”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Spencer muttered quickly, shrugging him off, but his voice wobbled, and when Morgan looked closer, he could see the tear tracks drying on his face.

He took a chance. “You can’t just hold it in like this,” Morgan said, keeping his voice down. “Now, what do you say about having that conversation?”

After a long moment, Spencer whispered, “I wanted to kill Mr. Scratch.”

“So did I,” Morgan agreed, but Spencer shook his head vehemently.

“You don’t get it. I was going to _shoot_ him. I was going to—and if Emily—”

His gaze dropped and his voice broke as he took a step backwards and breathed in. Morgan waited for him to collect himself before saying, “She lived.”

“I _know_ that. I know that.” Another sniffle. “But...there’s going to come a time where someone _doesn’t,_ you know? Someone’s going to die because of me.”

Morgan frowned. “That’s never stopped us before.”

“Yeah, but I just—I can’t handle that right now, and I—” He looked back up, eyes swimming. “I did so many things, Morgan. Things I don’t want to think about again, and things that I—I’m terrified that I’m going to change. For the worse.” He took in a deep breath and let it out. “I’m just so _...scared._ Of what I can do, what—”

He started to spiral again; with the heels of his palms dug into his eyes, and Morgan felt his stomach clench. He wasn’t unfamiliar with PTSD—hell, none of them were—but seeing it so close, so badly, with nothing he could do except be there?

Feeling helpless, Morgan put an arm on Spencer’s shoulder and squeezed once.

“What do I do?” Spencer croaked.

Morgan sighed. “To be honest, I don't know.” He hesitated. “But what I _do_ know is that you’re a good person, Reid.”

“But you have no idea what I had to do—”He sucked in a breath and struggled to push it out. “—what I said—”The next breath didn’t come at all. “—and I’ve been thinking all these things—”

The last words dissolved into tears, and Morgan held out his hands. “Hey, hey,” he encouraged, feeling awkward, “stick with me. Focus on me.” Spencer raised his bleary face to him and sobbed. “You’re not there anymore.”

Spencer’s voice is barely audible when he admits, “Morgan, I never _left.”_

His head dropped again, hair falling over his face, and Morgan couldn’t do anything except take him by the shoulders and pull him into a hug. Spencer let his arms hang limp at his sides, but he buried his face in Morgan’s shoulder, and Morgan held on as tight as he could, like maybe he could bring him back, away from his head.

“I need help,” Spencer breathed into his shoulder.

Morgan squeezed him tight. “You do.” He pulled away. “And let me tell you, kid, you got all of us behind you.”

Spencer gave him a watery smile. “I know,” he agreed softly, letting out a breath both of them didn’t know he was holding. “I missed you.”

“Me too.” Morgan gave him a playful swat on the head before hugging him again, both smiles fading as they stood in the silence. “We’re not going to lose you again, kid.”

Spencer sighed, burrowing deeper into the embrace. “I don’t know.”

“Then we’ll try,” Morgan replied firmly. “Can you try for us, too?”

“Okay.” Spencer reached up to return the hug. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

They separated, Morgan giving Spencer a pat on the back before holding open the door for him, and Spencer smiled before wiping his eyes and turning towards the exit. Morgan stood where he was, watching the building he loved so much go on without him.

Spencer wouldn’t go on without him, though, or anyone else, for that matter. Hard as it may be, and futile as it might turn out, Morgan decided that even if all he could do was be there, that might just be enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this second part! This was a short and fun little fic, and I had a lot of fun. Thanks for reading, as always!


End file.
